Family Matters
by calicoskies4ever
Summary: A sequel to The Sex Lives of Luthors. Takes place after Prodigal. Lex is, midly dissapointed with the ways things are working out between him and his father. LexLionel Slash, rated M for the up coming chapters. You have been warned.
1. Everybody Lies

A sequel to The Sex Lives of Luthors, as requested by Miss. Meehan, this takes place right after Lex learns that Lionel is no longer blind. It contains spoilers for Prodigal, and Lineage, is rated M, for later chapters. It's Lex/Lionel slash, so uh, obviously if you don't like that stuff, don't read it. 

"I hear you've never felt so alive  
So much desire beyond control  
And as usual I am the last to know  
The last to know how you're feeling  
The last to know where you are  
The last to know if you're happy now," Del Amitri

I'm not sure which of his lies hurt me the most, so I think I should just list everything that has gone wrong, so I can look it over, and try to decide, once I've had a chance to thoroughly examine my situation.

My father lied to my mother and had an affair with Rachel Dunlevy, and even managed to get her pregnant

He lied to her and got her locked up in a mental ward, and took the baby away.

He lied to her/us about where he was and what happened to the baby, claiming that it died.

He told me that he wanted me to go back to Metropolis and work with him, but nothing more ever came from that. Granted it has only been about a week, but still.

I found Lucas alive and—somewhat well—living in edge city, and brought him to Smallville, with the hopes that he would help me be able to keep Lex Corp. since dad wasn't planning on taking me with him when he leaves for Metropolis.

Dad seduced Lucas, and kicked me out of the mansion, all of it to get back at me for…whatever he thinks I've done.

It turns out he's not even blind any more. He's been able to see for weeks, but didn't say anything. He lied, so he could keep an eye on me. He's been watching me this whole time, studying me, and all of it just so he could knock me down a peg or two.

Yeah, that's not nearly as helpful as I was hoping it would be. Maybe it really is the whole blindness thing that really bothers me. I never expected him to treat me well, but his being blind made him weaker. It brought him down to my level, and we bonded. I think I liked it that way, because I didn't feel as though I was constantly disappointing him. He needed me almost as much as I needed him.

So I let myself fall for him, again. I let go. I trusted him. That was, undoubtedly one of the stupidest things I have ever done, but then again hindsight is always 20-20, so who knows.

Dad came to talk to me this afternoon, about the past week, about everything. He marched right through the doors of my office and up to my desk. He must have noticed the glare on my face and the hatred in my eyes (who could have missed it?) because he wrapped is arms around me and kissed the top of my head, chuckling to himself, quietly.

"I'd be careful if I were you, son. It would be a shame if your face got stuck that way, permanently." When I didn't respond, he decided to use a different tactic. Dad slid his hand down my chest, slowly popping the buttons open on my shirt, leaning in and healing deeply. He pressed his head against my chest, his curls tickling me but I didn't laugh. I wouldn't let myself.

"Dad, I'm a little busy. If you didn't mind, _this_, is going to have to wait," I said, pushing my chair all the way back to the wall. I only got a tiny bit of satisfaction, when my sudden movement caused him to stumble, especially since it was only for an instant, before he caught himself.

"I was hoping you would give me an opportunity to speak to you. I believe we have a number of things to work out, if you are still planning on returning to Luthorcorp, that is."

"Well, I'm not. In case you were unsure, I think I'll stay in Smallville. It may not be what I always wanted, but at least here, people are honest with me. They don't go around behind my back trying to steal everything I've worked for."

"You really believe that, don't you?" he asked, smiling. "While it's a pity you won't be joining me, you should know better than to think such things, Son. They hate you. You're my son, and no matter what you do, no one will ever see passé that."

"So you're suggesting I just give in and come and be with you in Metropolis, since it's only a matter of time until you decide to yank me back there like it or not? You really ought to write a book on all of this parenting stuff, Dad."

"Of course not. You are free to do as you wish. I was just trying to help you, Lex. You deserve to know the truth." When he put his hand on my shoulder that time, I didn't push it away. I let him touch me, because I missed him so much. I was practically ready to forgive him, right there, until he said the last bit anyway.

"The truth? From _you_? I should be so lucky. I don't think you've ever told me the truth, Dad. Not once in my whole life," I told him, pulling back again, trying my hardest not to let him have everything he wanted.

"Don't be melodramatic. It doesn't suit you," was his only response. Then he turned to leave the room, but not before delivering one last line. "I'll be going back to Metropolis tomorrow. It's up to you whether or not you are coming along with me."


	2. Father and Child Reunion

"Oh, please don't go  
Let me have you just one moment more  
Oh, all I need  
All I want is just one moment more  
You've got to hold me and maybe I'll believe," Mindy Smith

As Dad was leaving my office, I thought about calling out to him, and pleading for him to take me back. I thought about falling to my knees and professing my undying love for him. I knew I could make him listen; all I had to do was open my mouth, and say something, anything. He hadn't stopped loving me. This was simply another one of his tests, and all I had to do in order to pass it, was tell him that I would come back to Metropolis with him. He would have taken me back in an instant if I had asked him to, but I didn't.

Maybe it was my wounded pride that made me do what I did. Maybe I was still pissed off and tired of all the lies. Maybe I was just tired of the constant fighting. Perhaps it was all of these things and more, but whatever the reason, I didn't say a word when Dad walked away. I just watched as he stepped out of the room and went down the hallway, never once looking back.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and most of tonight sitting at my desk, staring at the door, and waiting for him to come back. I knew I still had a day to find him, apologize, and beg for another chance, but I wanted him to be the one who asked me again. I thought I deserved another chance and I shouldn't have to beg for it.

Needless to say, my father never returned. I didn't se him all afternoon. I didn't see him when I ate dinner. He wasn't there when I went back to my office. He wasn't waiting for me when I went upstairs to go to bed, and he didn't show up as I was getting undressed. There was no knock at the door as I lay awake in the dark, with the covers pulled all around me at 11:30. Nobody came as I tossed and turned for over an hour, still not falling asleep, and that was when I gave up.

I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep until I talked to Dad, but first I needed a little courage. I walked down the long, dark hallways, and back to my office, where I poured myself a full glass of scotch, and downed it in one, painful gulp. I considered pouring myself a second drink, a third, a fourth, and even a fifth drink, but decided that one was the correct amount.

One drink was enough to calm nerves without dulling my senses, and I also knew that if I had a second drink my resolve would fade, and with a third it would be destroyed. If I didn't stop at one, I wouldn't be able to stop, and facing my father drunk would have been a stupid and pointless exercise.

After about fifteen minutes of pacing back and forth across my office, trying to decide what I should say to him ("Dad—I know it's late—but I really—I would like to talk to you. This afternoon—I was angry with you and I didn't properly express my feelings. I believe that have been treating me rather shabbily, but I also think that I have a few things to work on as well. So if the otter still stands, I would like to come back to metropolis with you.") before heading towards his room.

With every step, my strength seemed to fade just a little bit more. Soon I had completely forgotten my speech, and I had no idea what I was going to do. I barely managed to reach up and knock on the door. Dad answered quickly, too quickly for someone who had been sleeping, and yet he still seemed dried. When the door opened, he was wearing a robe, tied loosely at the waist and, as far as I cold tell, nothing else.

"I was wondering when you would finally work up the courage to get here. Honestly, I didn't expect it to take this long," he said, reaching out to stroke my cheek. "I thought you were stronger than that."

"I hate you," I whispered, not meaning a word of it, and knowing that he knew I didn't mean it either. And yet, he didn't argue, or correct me. He merely reached out to me with his other hand, grabbing the front of my shirt.

"You coming?" he asked, and hen without letting me answer, my father pulled me into his bedroom, smiled and he leaned forward, kissing me once, twice, three times. My father pressed his right hand against the base of my neck, as we kissed, and his left slipped into the pocket of my pajama bottoms. I felt my cock starting to grow hard, as his fingers wrapped themselves around the…

"Wait," I called out, trying to stop him, trying to stop myself. "Please," I begged, "don't." Both of his hands dropped away in an instant and he took a step backwards, looking at me with this great sadness in his eyes.

"I am so sorry," he said, backing away even more. That was when I realized he was as terrified as I was, but for completely different reasons. He's always been worried about hurting me, scaring me, and my little outburst pretty much confirmed every last one of his fears. "I'm sorry."

"No—I didn't mean—I just. I wanted to talk first, before I lost my nerve, and I was scared that if I—you didn't hurt me…it wasn't bad…I wasn't scared, I just." With every word, Dad stepped closer to me, and by the time I had gotten everything out he was back at my side, but his hands were dangling at his side, like he was still afraid to touch me. "You wouldn't hurt me," I said, taking his hand in mine, and kissing the palm.

"If you want to talk, that would be fine with me. Come, sit down." I followed him across the room, and over to a large, plush sofa. He sat down beside me, still holding onto my hand.

"You've been treating me like crap lately. You lied to me, you've been sneaking around behind my back, stealing from me, cheating on me…if I'm gonna—if we're going to work together, then something has to change." I tried to say these words with strength, courage, but my heart was racing a mile a minute and the words came out so quickly that they got slurred together. Dad chuckled, again. "You gotta stop laughing at me," I said, this time actually managing to be strong.

"I wasn't laugh at you, not at what you said. There's so much of your mother in you. I forget that. Sometimes, it takes me by surprised," he told me in a calm voice, all the while, patting my knee, still smiling.

"And you find that, funny?" I heard my voice cracking when I told him that. "Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have you laughing at me like that, all the time?" I knew better than to say it. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't stop myself.

"Now, calm down, Lex. Just relax, okay?" he asked, in his usual, patronizing tone, but also part of him really was just trying to keep me from freaking out. "Tell me what you want. Do you know what that is?"

"Stop treating me like some hysterical person with a—I'm just—I want you to treat me—I want you to be good to me, take care of me, tell me the truth. I need you to love me, if that's even possible. If you're capable of loving anybody," I spat the word out, angrily, partly because I was hurting, but mostly because I was scared.

I didn't know if he could love me, if he could love anyone, or if it really was just me. I didn't think I could handle things if it was all my fault, if it was all my problem, if he just didn't—or wouldn't, love me.

"You don't really think that, do you Lex?" Dad's voice was still strong, and when he reached out to hold my face in his hand, I almost jumped. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Just look at me. The problem here is not that you think I can't love. You're afraid. You're terrified that I don't love you."

"It's not fair that you can do that. You haven't just got an edge over me, Dad; you've got complete and total control." I tried to look away, but he wouldn't let go of my face.

"I love you, son. I have loved you every second, of every minute, of every day from the moment you were born; from the first time your mother told me she was pregnant with you." Then he started to rub my back and shoulders. "As far as the control thing goes, you're going to need to learn how to take care of that one for yourself."

"I don't know how to do that. You've been holding me under your thumb my whole life, controlling me forever, and now I don't know how to do anything for myself. I'm a mess, because of you."

"That's enough of that now. You don't need my pity, nor do you want it. Come with me to Metropolis, and I'll teach you everything you need to know, about running the company, relationships, love, sex, control, anything you want, whatever you need. Okay?" I felt myself nodding even though I wanted to say no.

It's not that I didn't agree with just about everything he said, but I didn't want to leave Smallville, I still don't. I like it here. I have friends here, or at least a friend, and despite what he said before, not everyone in Smallville hates me.

"Do you think we could stay here, you and me, together? I wanna be with you, I do, but I don't want to leave. I like it here." Dad started to laugh again, when I said this, but he stopped himself.

"Let me see if I understand you want to stay. In Smallville?' he asked, and I nodded again. "Would you be alright with my asking why?" he said, gently stroking my cheek with his hand.

"Stay because I asked you to, because it's what I want. Stay because you love me and you trust me to be able to figure out what is best for me. Stay because…you can't laugh, okay? It's just that I've never—I didn't exactly have a lot of friends growing up. I didn't have any. When you sent me to Smallville I felt like I was being exiled to Elba, or something, but then I met someone and everything changed." My father nodded at my statement, smiling yet again.

Then he turned to me and said something along the lines of, "Miss Lana Lang, if I'm not mistaken?" he asked, and then it was my turn to laugh. "If not her, then who?" His voice rose just a little at my being able to pull one over on him, that something got past his defenses.

I can't believe that I told him this, mostly because I knew I would e admitting something to him that I'd barely admitted to myself, but I knew that if things were ever going to work between us, I was going to need to be honest.

"Okay, another rule, you can't make a big deal out of this, or freak out, no matter what. You got that, Dad? Good. Well, nothings happened yet, and I doubt that this person feels the same way but I've sort of got a crush…on…Clark Kent."


	3. Boys' of Summer

"You don't have a clue, what it is like to be next to you  
I'm here to tell you, that it is good, that it is true," Eels.

Dad's reaction to my saying this was completely the opposite of what I had been expecting, and totally out of the blue. First he smiled a big smile. Then he nodded. He didn't get mad, but actually smiled, and nodded.

"Who doesn't," he replied quietly, and at first I wasn't even sure whether or not I had actually heard it. "Clark Kent, hmm? He is a rather attractive young man, isn't he?"

"Yeah," I said, but then looked away. "Unfortunately, he doesn't feel the same way about me. Not to mention the fact that he's only fourteen—years—old."

"First off," my father informed me, "he's almost sixteen, and I might not be blind, but if you haven't noticed the way that boy follows you around like a puppy dog, then you must be," Dad says, smiling again.

"Clark likes me as a friend, and he follows me around because he labors under the misapprehension that I am cool. It's only a matter of time before he sees right through me."

"Lex you can think whatever you want, but we both know you're smart enough to have at least noticed that Clark Kent looks up to you."

"Yeah sure he does, like a big brother, and even if you are right are we just going to ignore the fact that all he ever whenever we see ach other is talk about Lana, non-stop."

"He's fifteen and he has a crush on you. Lex, do you remember when you were fifteen? When you came home from school for the summer all you wanted to talk about was…"

"That was a completely different situation," I jumped in, cutting him off. When Dad gave me the "oh really look," I knew I had to tell him everything. "We were—it was different. Mom died and we just started fighting, worse than it had ever been. For a while I felt like it was all your fault and I hated you for that. I thought you felt the same way about me.

"It just kept on getting worse and worse and we weren't even talking to each other anymore. I got to the point where I didn't even know what was going to happen to me anymore. I kept on having these nightmares and so I stopped sleeping and I couldn't stand to be anywhere near you so I stopped eating for a couple of days.

"Then I remember what—before she died, mom and I talked and she made me promise to try and make things work out with you. That was when I realized I wasn't gonna get any sleep unless I went and talked to you, and we got a couple of things worked out. So I got out of bed in the middle of the night, walked to your room, and just stood there.

"I was terrified. I couldn't move, couldn't think. I couldn't do anything. So finally, I just sort of collapsed in a heap on the floor, which must have made a ton of noise, because I was sobbing, and then all of the sudden the door opened and you stepped you, looked down, and you got down next to me, holding me in your arms, and then the two of us just sat there, for what seemed like forever, with you holding me and both of us crying.

"You let me sleep in your room that night, and the next morning—I'm not sure of the exact details any more, or when it was, but it just sort of happened. We were both inseparable for a while after that. I couldn't stand to be away from you for more than a couple of minutes. Things stayed like that all summer, but then you sent me back to school and you wouldn't visit or take my phone calls or write me letters or anything.

"When I came home for Christmas, I was terrified again. I didn't know what to do, or say, or how to behave. When I saw you that first time, when I got home, I just started babbling and talking about everything and anything, and you listened to me—sort of. So, for couple of days there…it took me a while before things went back to normal.

"Clark's not like that. He talks about Lana all of the time, because he's a perfectly normal fifteen-year-old boy, and she's a perfectly normal fifteen-year-old girl, and the two of them are gonna get married and live happily ever after one day. He's never even thought about me in that way and he never will, but that doesn't mean I have to give up our friendship." Dad listened patiently as I went through my whole speech, even though I could tell he wanted to interrupt me about a hundred million times.

"Lex," he said, then stopped himself. Then my father did something completely unexpected. He hugged me, a good, solid, fatherly, loving hug. I don't think he's done that since the whole "level three" incident at the plant last year that was just a show for the cameras. This one was real, though, and it felt amazing. He held me for a long time, as if apologizing for having hurt me all those times when he sent me away, or ignored me. Dad's hand ran up and down my back, rubbing firmly, and I felt my body melt into his.

A tear slid down my cheek but I didn't reach up to keep it away. My father lifted my face up just long enough for him to kiss the tearstained cheek with his soft lips. "Believe me Son, sending you away was one of the most difficult things I have ever done, but every time, I thought it would be the best thing, first, for you to finish school, and then for you to come here and learn to stand on your own feet. Maybe I was right in doing that, and maybe I wasn't. What I do know, is that you are a much stronger person now, than you ever were before."

"Yeah, well I wouldn't exactly recommend that you go ahead and write a book on parenting just yet," I said, and there was this awkward moment, where the two of us just stared at each other, and slowly a little smile broke out across his face. Then we both started laughing and he lay back on the couch, pulling my body on top of his. My father kissed me, first on the top of my head, then each of my cheeks, and finally on the mouth.

The bristly hairs of his beard were rough against my skin, but I till liked the feeling, especially when his silky smooth lips pushed my mouth open and his tongue darted inside. The front of his robe fell open, exposing the top of his chest, and a little bit of his stomach. I lowered my head, kissing all the way down to his hips.

I tried pulling at the belt but it wouldn't come loose. I tugged and tugged, my frustration and anger beginning to over power me. Dad was much more calm, relaxed, experienced. He pushed me back and removed the belt in one simple gesture. Then we were standing, dancing across the room, towards the bed. I fell backwards, certain that I was about to hit the ground, but his arms guided me towards the mattress.

When he leaned over me, I caught the faint scent of something on his skin, almonds or maybe coconut or something good. I smiled, begging him to go on, and he lowered his head, and his lips were, on me, kissing me, licking me, and teasing me. He sucked me off, bringing me right to the brink of cumming and then he stopped, pulled away and rolled over.

After a minute or two of his fingers stretching me out, Dad pushed himself into me, gently, and it felt good, right. Some how I managed to hold on, even though he was thrusting into me as hard as ever, to hold on just long enough for him to finish, and we both climaxed at almost the exact same time.

Later, after the two of us had gotten our breath back, when we were lying together under the sheets, Dad turned to me and kissed my face again. He said, "I love you, Son," and that was it.

"But are you going to stay?" I managed to work up the courage to ask, after about fifteen minutes. "Please," I begged. Still nothing. "Dad?" I waited. He didn't answer me. When I looked over at him, my heart racing, and my head spinning, he was smiling again. "Don't ever do that to me or I'll go off and join the Peace Corps or something." This only made him laugh harder.

"If you want me here, then this is where I will stay, for now at least. I'm just concerned that you feel safe in Smallville, eventually you have to be willing to take the next step," he told me.

"Why do I get the feeling that your advice isn't just about business?" I ask, but once again he has fallen silent.

"That was nice, wasn't it?" Dad asks, and I could only assume he was referring to the sex, and not our conversation. I decided to take advantage of the situation, by keeping quiet, and making him wonder why I'm not talking for once. He, of course, saw right through me, and smiled. "You think you could do better?" he asked and leaned over to kiss my forehead. "Alright, one more time," he said, kissing me again.


	4. The Drama King

"I am losing my mind, nothing seems right  
I do not know who I am anymore  
I am losing the fight because I hate my life  
I wish that it was easier to be in love," Everclear

It's been a couple of days, and I've been thinking about what Dad said about Clark. I'm not sure whether or not I actually believe him. Part of me thinks he just wants to see me crash and burn, so I'll have nothing left and I have to go back to Metropolis with him. Of course, if Clark is in love with me, I might really be screwing my chances up, by nod doing anything.

At the same time, if he doesn't like me in that way, he'd be completely disgusted when I told him how I feel, but what's the worst case scenario, I tell Clark and we never speak to each other again…no it could be worse. He could be disgusted, and then go home and tell his dad and then all of the villagers would come up to the mansion with torches and what not…but really what are the chances of that? This might be Smallville, but it's also the 21st century.

Basically, I have no idea what I want to do. Maybe Dad was right, I should go for it with Clark. I mean, if we're really supposed to be together then we should have as much time together as possible, but then again, if he doesn't love me back—I'm not sure I could handle that. Even if my dad gave me his undivided attention and love, it might not be enough to help me get over losing him.

Clark is—beyond words. He has those beautiful blue eyes, with those delicate, long lash, his high cheek ones, those thick black curls, his big, muscular body, and then there's something else. Clark Kent has this radiance to him that I've never seen before. He glows, God I sound like a woman. This is sort of embarrassing.

I shouldn't obsess over him like this, it's weird, right? Anyway, Clark's coming over this afternoon. I invited him to come by and just hang out, but really I've been thinking that if things go well, today might be the perfect time to tell him how I feel. I'm a little nervous, even though Dad says it's painfully obvious Clark has a crush on me, I've never noticed it and, like I said before, the whole thing could still be a set up to get me to move back in with him.

There, I'm doing it again; I really am a sorry sight. Maybe I won't say anything. I guess I have to try and wait and see. I'll watch him carefully, make a couple of vague comments and take account of how he reacts. Well then, here goes nothing.

"Hey Lex, what's up?" Clark asked, as he walked through the door, smiling, but with his hands balled up in the pockets of his jacket. He sort of walked over to the side of my desk and looked around, as if unsure of where to sit. Clark made an awkward attempt to seat himself on the edge of my desk, falling off, but he managed to land on his feet.

"You know, it's a big office. I've got a couple of sofas over there," I told him, nodding my head in their direction. I walked over to one of the couches, sitting near the far left edge. I figured this way, Clark could chose where to sit, and that would say a lot.

If he say directly next to me, it would be obvious, on a completely different sofa would be too. Then, of course, there were the three or four middle ground possibilities, the other far end of the sofa, the middle of the sofa, the chair right next to it, and not sitting at all. I watched as he sat on the middle cushion, close to me, but not close enough to be a dead give away. "So um—how's school been going?" I asked, stupidly, but there was nothing else I could think of.

"It's not great, but it doesn't completely suck." Then he laughed in the nervous way I used to do when I was around Dad, but I didn't want him to know how desperately I wanted him to notice me. Of course, Clark is a kid and they tend to be nervous for no reason.

"Yeah, I know how that goes. When I was in high school, I wasn't exactly what you would call popular…this one guy, he used to lean out the window in one of the dorms, and drop raw eggs on kids as they walked by." This did make Clark laugh, quit a bit actually. In fact, he kept on laughing long after what would have been considered necessary.

At this point, I also noticed that, little by little, he seemed to be scooting closer to me. Our knees were practically touching and I knew I could reach out to touch his hand, but I was still afraid.

"Lex, can I ask you a question?" Clark asked, trying to look anywhere but me. I watched as his eyes searched the room. "I mean, I was just wondering about—can I ask you something?"

"Sure, Clark. You should feel free to ask me anything, at any time," I probably could have continued babbling like that, but Clark was still smiling at me in that shy way, and I knew he was even more nervous than I was. "Go ahead, Clark," I told him, placing my hand right next to his. He blushed again.

"Well uh—so um, there is this uh—I mean I—okay. I um, there is this—I have a friend, but I think this person might want to be more than just friends and I think I feel the same way but, I dunno—I mean I just—I do like this person and I'm not sure if they feel the same way," he stammered, reaching across my chest to grab a bottle of water from the table next to us, but he accidentally knocked it over. The bottle fell into my lap, spilling all over my pants. "Oh man, I'm sorry," Clark got up and started to look around for a towel.

"It's fine, Clark—I'll just go change, and uh—as far as this friend of yours goes, I think you should go for it. What's the worst that could happen?" I asked, as I headed for the door. Then Clark turned and looked at me sadly.

"Well, I could get rejected and I might even lose this person as a friend. I dunno what I would do if that happened." I wanted to blurt out, 'I love you so much Clark. I love you too,' but I am incredibly thick and I wasn't sure he was talking about me.

"I think sometimes you have to take a risk like that, because otherwise you could end up missing out on something really great, you know what I mean?" I asked, and started out the door, but Clark called out to me again.

"Lex, wait. I um—you know that whole thing I was talking about before? I um—I was kind of, sort of—I was talking about me, and you."

"You mean, I uh—well that's really good then, because—I uh—well to be perfectly honest, Clark, I've been trying to find a way to tell you that I feel the same way for about—for a long time," I said and Clark smiled, a huge, bring, beautiful smile.

"Can I come with you then?" he asked, making his way to my side. Then he draped and arm around me shoulder and the two of us started walking towards my bedroom. "Um, I think I should tell you something," he said blushing again, as I removed the wet slacks, and walked into the connecting bathroom to hang them up. Clark stayed back in the bedroom, sitting on the mattress. I removed my boxers, and grabbed a robe, trying it tightly so as not to make him completely uncomfortably. He looked over at me as I came back in gain, but couldn't make eye contact.

"It's okay. I know this is your first time, you don't have to worry, and if you're nervous, we can take things as slowly as you need," I explained, sitting at his side. Clark looked up and our eyes linked for a minute.

"Well yeah, there's that to, but I um—I wanna tell you something else. Actually, I um—well maybe we should start with the day we met. You were right; you did hit me with your car."

"That's not possible. Clark, I—we talked about this. You got mad at me—I've seen. You're just—okay maybe I'm gonna need you to explain this to me just a bit more." I wasn't sure what to say. I never gave up on trying to find out the "truth" about Clark, but nothing I had found proved anything definitely.

"Well it's kind of a long story, but I think I should be completely honest with you, if we really are gonna do this. So um—I'm not exactly from around here," he started to explain. By the time Clark got through telling me everything, I wasn't sure how to react. Part of me was mad at him for lying to me all this time. Part of me was shocked, and part of me couldn't be happier that he had trusted me with the truth.

"This is a lot to take in. Now, I don't want you to feel like you did anything wrong, but maybe tonight—maybe we should just wait a while, before we do anything else." I felt a lot of things, but mostly I was overwhelmed.

"Lex, are you mad at me." He asked, reaching out to grab my arm, but I didn't—I couldn't listen to him right now—I just needed some time to process everything.

"No. Not really. I just need a day or two to sort things out okay? I promise, I don't hate you, and I won't. It's okay," I promised, but he knew just as well as I id that that things were never going to be the same between us again.

"Okay," Clark said, quietly, turning away and walking out the door. "I never wanted to lie to you. I kept meaning to say something, but it never seemed like the right time." I nodded and he left.

Dad came in shortly after that, looking over at me, sitting at my side, and reaching out to touch the side of my face. He kissed my forehead, and wrapped his arm around my side, pulling me close. 

"I saw Clark Kent walking out of here a minute ago. He looked—heart broke. What did you do to him, Son?" He asked, starting to remove my robe. I couldn't tell if my father was asking because he actually cared or if he wanted to make me feel bad.

"He told me the truth, about everything, and I sort of panicked," I admitted and Dad nodded. "I told him I needed a day to think about everything, but it's a lot, Dad. I dunno. Maybe it's just guilt. He's a kid. He doesn't know what he wants."

"That young man wants you, Lex, and you want him too. Don't let anything stand in the way of that. You here me?" he ordered, slowly pushing me down onto the bed.

"Well, I guess if you really—I mean of course I like him ad I want us to be together, but I just—I'll call him latter."

"Good," Dad said, kissing me again. Then he sort of moaned, pressing his lips to my shoulder blades, and inhaling sharply. "I love you, Lex," he told me, and everything was perfect, just like it always is when Dad and I are getting along. "You let me know the next time Clark Kent is coming by, okay?"

"Shit, Dad," I chuckled, sounding almost pathetic. "I would have thought you'd be slowing down in your old age." He laughed when I said this, naturally.

"Jealousy is a rather unattractive quality, Son, and unLuthor-like to boot. You should learn to control that," he told me, still smiling.

"Look, I think I should talk to him about that first, but I'm sure that something can be arranged. He does seem to like you a little, Dad, and well, nobody likes you," was about the strongest thing I could get back at him with.

"Except for you," he said stroking his beard with one hand and rubbing my shoulder with the other. "And Clark Kent."


	5. You Want Him Too

AN: Sorry for the change from past to present tense but this did not want to work in passed. Also, sorry if the end seems a little bit too easy, believe me it wasn't.

"She makes me do things I don't want to do  
I don't know why I should be telling you  
I know that you want her too  
I've got a better chance than you do  
I know that you want her too  
You're such a hopeless romantic  
She told me you're so predictable and nice  
She only did you a favor once or twice," Elvis Costello

I want to call Clark up fifteen minutes after Dad and I finished but it's already after midnight. Ordinarily I wouldn't think anything of calling one of my friends at this time of night, but once gain, this is Smallville Kansas, and Clark lives on a farm. You know what they say about farmers, right? Plus, now I can't stop thinking about what Dad said. I'm a little nervous.

It's one thing for me to tell Dad that I think Clark likes him, it's a whole other thing entirely to actually bring it up, especially since I've realized How much Clark likes me. What if he agrees to something, just because I ask him? Or worse, what if I suggested it and the two of them run off to Vegas together and get married and Dad turns Clark into a carbon copy of himself? What if they both end up hating me? I'm doing it again. I would talk to somebody about this, but I know better. Loose lips, ECT.

I dunno if I wanna do this at all. Things are finally back on track between me and my farther and quite possibly between me and Clark as well. I think I'm just afraid of screwing up all of the good things in my life. I'm afraid of losing Dad, losing Clark, losing everything I've worked so hard for.

I'm practically happy for the first time in my life. It's only natural for me to try and sabotage that. Maybe I shouldn't say anything to Clark. Things would certainly be easy if it was just ups—well not easy, but easier, less complicated. Why should I even mention anything? I mean, if he really like's my father he'll say something to me about it, won't he? And if he doesn't feel anything for my dad it would be completely absolve my feelings of guilt about forcing him into something he doesn't want.

Now that would sabotage thins between me and Lionel, and the last thing in the world I want, is to screw things up between the two of us. I like Clark, a lot, but I'm not sure if I'd be willing to give up my relationship with Dad for anyone, even Clark Kent. He's special; I'm just not sure if he's that special. It would be one thing if I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, but I'm just not sure yet.

Dad's asleep, he's been that way for a while now, but I can't—I'm just—I've been thinking about this too hard, and too long. Man, I just know I'm not going to get any sleep at all tonight.

"How in the world are you still awake?" he asks, sitting up slowly, and scaring the Hell out of me in the process. There are a lot of things running through my mind, and at fist I think I should just tell him everything, but then, I get scared, nervous. He's always been able to do this to me, and I've got a feeling he always will.

"Because I'm a lot younger than you," I snap, my exhaustion getting the better of me, and not for the first time. At least I didn't act scared. At least I managed to pretend like I'm not completely—well at least I didn't spill my guts.

"While that may be true you're not sitting up awake all night because I didn't ware you out before. The reason you just did that, is because you can't stop thinking about this whole Clark Kent thing, isn't it, Son?"

"Look what happened with us—was one thing, but Clark's different. By the time I was his age, I was a whole lot older than fifteen, and our circumstances were different. Clark's just a kid, a normal kid."

"You and I both know there is no truth in that. Clark Kent is in no way, shape, or form normal, but I understand your apprehension. That's very—noble of you, son. Of course, if you have a problem with my having a relationship with Clark, you can't exactly go forward with your own, can you?"

"Don't you think I've been thinking about that? Maybe we should just up and leave, move back home, and forget all about Clark Kent.," I suggest, knowing how miserable doing that would make me feel, but thinking it just might be for the best anyway.

"I'm fairly certain you would be—unhappy, to say the least, with that particular arrangement. Lex, Clark is a very special young man who cares about you deeply. Now you're my son, and your happiness means the world to me, but I have my own interests to look out for as well."

Okay, now that—I'm a little concerned by all of this. I'm not sure, but I think Dad just told me that if I don't talk to Clark, he will, and if he does that, my deepest fears might just come true. If I talk to Clark, there's still a chance that the three of us could live—somewhat—happily together, and if I don't I run the risk of loosing them, an _that_ I could not handle.

"Is that a threat?" I ask, nearly fifteen minutes of terrified silence later, almost afraid of what his answer might be. Dad doesn't say anything at first, he just squeezes my hand, smiling.

"Of course not, he tells me, with more than a hint of laughter in his voice. He squeezes my hand a bit tighter and hugs me. "I'm simply stating the facts so that you will know how things are." Then suddenly, I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach. I don't know whether I should scream or cry.

I want to say, "please Daddy, love me. Pick me!" I want to scream it from the roof tops. I want to beg him, but I know I can't do any of those things. All I can do is nod my head, and snuggle closer to my father.

"I'll talk to him, I promise. I'll tell Clark—I'm not sure what, but I will say something to him, find some way to broach the subject. I don't know how to do this, but I will think of a way." I let my voice trail off, but he doesn't seem upset or anything.

"Don't worry so much, Lex. Everything is going to work out just find. I know a thing or two about these types of situations. Now come on, get some rest," he says leaning over and kissing me, hard, on the mouth.

//XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX//

"I think about calling Clark as soon as I wake up, but I know it's too early, and I'll sound completely pathetic if I do that. Not that Clark would mind me being completely pathetic. At this point, I think he would be grateful to hear from me no matter what, but I wait.

I wait, and I think. I think about what I'm going to say to him, how I'm going to get him to come over here. I think about Dad, and how much I love him, how hard all of this has been. I think about Clark and how much I love him, what we're going to do, and Dad and the way things are going to go when I bring this up with Clark. Then, at around 10:00, I pick up the phone and dial. Clark picks up on the first ring, and I know, instinctively, that he's been sitting there since yesterday/

"Hello?" he asks, his voice breaking just a little bit. He sounds like he got even less sleep than I did, which of course makes me feel like crap. "Hello?" he asks again, more desperately.

"Hi, Clark. It's me," I say and even though I'm sure he tried to cover the receiver, I can hear Clark scream with excitement at haring my voice. "I wanted to call to tell you that I feel bad about how I reacted yesterday."

"It's okay," he tells me quickly, "I don't think—that wasn't your fault, Lex. I should have told you all of that stuff sooner. I don't know why I didn't. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Its okay, Clark. I'm just sort of hoping that you might, you know, maybe you want to come over here and we could," I don't get a chance to finish. There's this gigantic whooshing sound, and then Clark is standing right at my side. He must have run five miles, maybe more, but he hasn't even broken a sweat.

"So what did you wanna—do?" he asks, placing his hand on top of mine, in an almost awkward way. He's shy, and yet direct, calm and at the same time practically shaking with excitement.

"I was—um. I was hoping maybe we could talk or," then he starts kissing me. Tiny, closed mouth, soft kisses, all over my face and lips, "this is god too," I say and Clark keeps on kissing, pushing me down onto the couch. Then he sort of stops, unsure of what to do next. "Here," I say, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and kissing down his chest.

Clark's pants are so tight I can actually see the outline of his hard Cock. He pulls my hands down to the fly, but there's something on his face, and in his eyes that makes me stop.

"Lex, please," he whimpers, softly, pulling my hands back after I yank them away. Here I am, doing all sorts of terrible things to a little kid. I have to stop. I have to stop. I have to stop.

"Clark. I'm, not sure this is a good idea. I sort of feel like I'm taking advantage. I think—I'm not so sure this is a good idea." Clark gives me this look, and then kisses me again, not a shy kisses like before, but a long, hard, passionate kiss, the likes of which I've never felt before. "Okay," I whisper and start to unzip Clark's pants, slowly sliding them off his body.

I lean my head down, kissing his hips, just above his cock. Then I lick up and down the shaft, taking him into my mouth, alternating between sucking and lick and he cums, hard but fast, and then he does practically the same thing for me, but stumbling at pretty much every step. He is trying though, really trying, and that makes up for everything that isn't perfect. He'll get better, I know it. Afterwards, we're lying on the couch together, naked, smiling, and snuggling.

Clark turns to me and he says, once again, "Lex, can I ask you something?" This time he doesn't wait for me to say anything first, just keeps on talking. I think he only asked as a formality. "This was, really great, but—I don't wanna stop doing this with you but I—I sort of feel the same kind of thing I feel for you—I sort of like someone else too." Before I say anything, I readjust my body, sitting up and holding him in my arms.

"Yeah, well that's not so unusual at your age, even now I feel that. I um—if you want, I can even give you some advice on how to work on things with Lana," Clark sort of laughs when I say this, sitting up to meet my eyes. "What?"

"Lana's nice but I don't really think about her any more and she doesn't think about me. I found her making out with Chloe last week anyway. Um—I think I'm sort of in love with…your dad," Clark tells me.

"I," and then I'm sort of at a loss for words for a minute. Clark looks like he's about to apologize, but I finish before he can interrupt me. "I know the feeling," I tell him and the two of us lay back on the couch, smiling.


	6. Human On The Inside

"I play a good game, but not as good as you

I may be a little cold, but you can be so cruel

I'm of brick; I'm not made of stone,

But I had you fooled enough to take me on," The Pretenders

Clark looks around the office for a minute before lifting me up and rushing both of us back to my room. Then he gently lays me down on the bed, sitting at my side and taking my hand in his.

"I'm almost afraid to ask this, but how in the—how id you know where my bedroom is? I'm fairly certain this isn't part of the official tour." Clark then lies down next to me, tracing circles and tiny hearts on my chest with his fingers.

"Um—well you know I told you yesterday how I can, you know, see through stuff, and I uh—before you and I talked about me liking you, I used to sort of watch, not when you took off your clothes or anything, just in the gym or when you were falling asleep or in your office."

"And you have the never to talk to me about invading your privacy?" I chuckle. Clark looks away, probably feeling like the worst person in the world. I know that feeling. I hate that feeling. "That was a joke, just promise you won't do hat anymore, okay?"

"I don't have to now. Before, I thought there was never gonna be any chance of our getting together but now we did so I don't gotta watch you from the outside."

"I have to ask you something. I know you said before that you—how you feel about my dad. Did you really mean that?" I ask, unsure of which answer I want him to give me.

"Why is that bad?" He looks up at me, with those big, beautiful eyes, tiny little tears jus starting to well up in the corners. I sit up, quickly, pulling him close to me.

"No. It's not bad, not even a little bit. There's nothing wrong with anything you're feeling right now, but you're just a kid—and we're adults. I just—I would hate to see you getting hurt in all of this." Clark reaches up to touch my face, while wiping his face.

"You wouldn't hurt me Lex. I trust you. And I don't think—I don't believe your dad would either. I mean, you don't think he'd do that, do you?" It's not that I think Lionel would ever hurt Clark, at least not intentionally.

On the other hand, my life is infinitely more complex ever since I starting having sex with my father. I get nervous, being alone, without him. I'm insecure. I miss him like crazy. I long for him. I feel desperate. I cry when he doesn't want to be with me…

Sometimes I feel like he doesn't love me. Then again, Clark is not a Luthor, and so if he were to get into a relationship with Dad, even at the tender age of fifteen, it would be completely different than what's happening between us, right?

"No. I don't think he would hurt you, but I've been playing this game a little longer than you have and I know that sometimes my father can seem—how do I put this nicely?"

"Like a jerk?" he asks, and we both laugh, just for a second or two. I know he's not perfect, Lex, and I don't care. I like him, and I like you too."

"Which one of us do you like more?" I ask, desperately, in an instant. I hate the weakness in my voice, how pathetic I feel, and that someone saw me acting like this. Then Clark makes this face, and I know I'm screwed. "Nevermind. Forget I asked, okay? Can you do that?"

"I could, but I think you would wanna hear the answer. I wanna tell you and I'm not just saying this out of pity or anything, but I like you more—a lot more actually, to be perfectly honest."

"You don't have to say that."

"I know, Lex. I—I love you, but I've only got a sort of—crush—on your Dad," he tries to explain. Clark lifts his hand up to stroke my face, running his fingers along my jaw. "So what should we do? I mean, what do you wanna do?"

"I told my dad that I'd talk to you today, and give him a call around 5:00 or so. He's in Metropolis right now. He had to go for a meeting, or something. I'm—actually he didn't tell me what he was doing."

"When is he gonna get back?" Clark asks, dropping his hand from my face, and wrapping both arms around my hips, in a protective gesture.

"Well, I'm not sure. It's gonna be a couple of days because of the—because—and he also. I um—I'm not sure. We still have some issues and sometimes he doesn't tell me anything at all. Sometimes we don't do so well."

"I'm sorry. I'll tell you everything, from now on, okay? I know it's not the same sort of thing, but I like you and I wanna make you happy. I wanna make you feel as good as possible, all the time."

"You do, Clark. I've never been as happy as I am today," I tell hi, and it's the truth. Things with me and Dad are getting better, everyday and now Clark and I are together. This is good and yet I'm still a little nervous about—well everything more with Dad than Clark.

I want his love desperately, and my biggest fear is that he'll discover this and think I'm weak, and then it will all be over. As for Clark, he's seen me at—well at my worst. He knows almost all of my secrets and it hasn't changed anything.

"Do you want me to be here with you, when your dad calls?" he asks, patting my bottom gently, and then he goes back to tracing little hearts on my hips. It's really sweet of him to ask, but I get so nervous around Dad, so uncomfortable, and I don't care how much Clark likes me, I hate to have him see me that way.

"I'd rather you didn't. It's not I don't want to be with you, I do, but at the same time...things are sort of complicated and when I talk to him, I just feel so—weak and pathetic, and I can't believe I just said that out loud."

"It's okay. We all feel that way, sometimes. There's nothing wrong with it. I'll go home and do my chores while you talk to him, how that sounds?" he asks, standing up slowly.

"I think that would work, but uh—please don't listen at the door if I'm not finished when you get back, okay?" Clark nods, hugs me and then does that whoosh thing again. Even though I know he's nowhere near me I still decide I should wait a few minutes before Calling Dad. Plus, it's just barely 5:00 and I'm trying not to seem as desperate as I feel.

As I'm sitting there, the phone rings. Of course I know it's him, and that I should wait, let it ring, two maybe even three times, but I don't. I pick it up on the first ring, but my voice disappears and I can't say a word.

"Lex, I know you're there so there's no sense in playing games. Lex, answer me. Alright, if you don't want to talk, then I guess I'll just have to hang the phone up now."

"No," I manage to squeak out in a tiny whisper. I can hear his breath hitch as he hears me say this. I screwed up. God, I'm pathetic. I hate it when he hears and sees me like this. I hate being like this.

"I'm not going to be able to get back to Smallville until Wednesday at the earliest. If you think you need it, I'll send the helicopter to come pick you up in half an hour," he tells me.

"You're not gonna tell me how pathetic I am, or call me weak, or any of the rest of that stuff you always do when I get like this?" My voice rises just a bit, but I manage to make myself sound stronger.

"No. I'm sure you're beating yourself up enough for the both of us. Now, would you like to come meet me here, or not?" he asks, again and the only thing I like is if he could reach through the phone line and hold me in his arms.

"I dunno. I' not sure Clark's parents would let him go to Metropolis with the two of us for almost a week, and –I dunno if I wanna—yeah. I'll be there," I tell him, realizing it's pointless to fight. We both know I will say yes to anything he asks. "Thanks, Dad."


	7. Crisis of Conscious

I know that technically we didn't learn about the liver disease until season 3 but he had to have known before so :-P

"Are you sleeping through the night? Do you have someone to hold you tight? Do you have someone to hang out with? Do you have someone to hug and kiss you? Hug and kiss you, Hug and kiss you? Are you alright," Lucinda Williams

I call Clark before leaving, he wasn't happy, but when I promised that both me and Dad were coming back, and that he was invited over as soon as we did, he smiled so big, I could hear it over the phone. Then he said it was okay. Fifteen minutes after I hang up the phone, the helicopter comes, just like Dad promised, and even though he's not in it, he is waiting for me when I get to the penthouse.

Two hours after that, we're laying in bed, having missed dinner, and not caring. He's holding me in his arms, and all of those tears I'd spent years and years working so hard not to shed, slowly start falling from my eyes.

"It's all right," he tells me, softly, and patting me on the head. "I've got you," he says over, and over, and over. I'm so ashamed; I don't even know why I'm crying. I don't know what's wrong with me. I must be the most pathetic creature on the planet.

"What's wrong with me?" I ask, looking up at my father, desperately. "I don't—I'm not. This isn't like me. I don't, I haven't—I don't know what's going on with me right now. I'm sorry."

"You have a sensitive heart," he whispers, and I look away. "It's not a bad thing, Lex. That's one of the things I love about you. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Are you sure?" I ask, lifting my head from his chest, and wiping my eyes. Part of me still aches a little, but for the most part, I'm feeling much better now. Dad calls down to the kitchen and orders some food to be brought up to his room, and a bottle of champagne. "Are we celebrating something?" I ask, sitting up and starting to do that tracing thing on Dad's shoulders, with my own fingers.

"Lex," my father says, after a minute of looking at me seriously. "I want you to come back and work with me at Luthorcorp, like we discussed before."

"The last time I agreed to that I ended up penniless, homeless, and begging the Kent's for shelter and to…" I stop myself before every bit of my soul pours out of my mouth. I can't stand being this emotional, this weak. "I'm sorry. I'm working on that."

"No, Lex, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting your—betraying you, and I'm sorry I made you believe that your having a conscious and your other emotions are a weakness. I was wrong in all of those things."

"What do you mean?" I ask, hardly able to believe it. Dad's been saying the same thing to me, treating me the same way for about as far back as I can remember. Does he really think he made a mistake, or is this another test. "Are you trying to trick me?"

"No, and if you think that, then I've been a lousy father to you. I always wanted for you to turn out just like me, and when you didn't, I felt as though it was your fault. I spent so much time focusing on what I thought were your faults, that I didn't stop to consider they might be strengths."

"How can my weakness be a strength?" I ask, knowing it's wrong, knowing I should just shut up and listen, but not caring. I want answers and I want them right now!

"You're sensitive, not weak, and I apologize for not recognizing the difference sooner. People like you, Lex. They trust you," he says, and ignores my laughter. "You have this charismatic side that allows you to get close to people, people who otherwise wouldn't associate themselves with a cooperation like ours."

I know I should probably be listening to what he's saying since it has to do with my career, and because he's complementing me, but all I can think of is how he just described Luthorcorp as being ours. Not his, not the company, but ours. Mine and his, his and mine, ours. It's almost as if he just said that he considers me to be equal to him. Dad's never even hinted that he might possibly consider, thinking of me as being on the same level he is. "Lex?" he asks, realizing that I'm no longer listening. My father chuckles softly, gently, but there's still a hint of that patronizing tone.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just a little tired is all," I lie, as I try to force a yawn out, but it's pointless. I'm not even remotely tired, and he knows it. Dad looks me over for a minute, trying to decide what, if anything, he should do now. He leans over, kissing me softly, and patting between my shoulder blades.

"Why don't you tell me about your morning?" he asks so causally that if I didn't know better I would have been tricked into believing that he forgot Clark and I spent the day together.

"Well, Clark came by, and we talked and then—but uh, it wasn't really that interesting." I'm trying to get just a little bit of an edge here, 'cuz I still feel pretty pathetic, despite what Dad said before. Luckily my father doesn't always have to be a complete creep and he lets me win this one.

"Did you have an opportunity to speak to him about we discussed yesterday?" Dad holds me close, speaking calmly, touching the side of my face. Then he smiles, probably because I completely suck at being subtle.

"Actually, he brought it up first. Turns out not everyone in Smallville hates us after all. Of course Clark did say that he likes me better, but I think he might be willing to—you know—I think he would be okay with it."

"I'm glad to hear that," Dad says quietly. I put my arms around his waist, and let him hold me. The two of us just lay there for a long while. It's not until around 11:00 PM that I realize things are going rather strangely. When we were talking earlier Dad described Luthorcorp as being "our" company, but he came out to Metropolis for a business meeting and didn't even offer to let me come with, and then he calls me this afternoon, even though he wasn't coming back, and invited me to home up here, but he hasn't said a word about what he was doing.

And then, after all of that, he starts telling me all the things I've been waiting to hear since I was just a little kid. My father does love me, I have no doubt about that, but everything else is completely out of character.

"Dad? What's going on?" I ask, sitting up in bed and pulling away from him a little. I would hate to think this whole thing is just an elaborate set up, but at the same time I wouldn't put it passed him. We don't really have a great history when it comes to telling each other the truth. The only good thing about this history is that I've gotten good at figuring out when I'm being lied to, especially if my father is the one who is lying to me.

"Right now, I'm trying to get to sleep," he informs me without snapping. He just uses his normal tone of voice, but I can tell he knows I'm starting to figure something out. "Why don't you go to bed, we can talk about this in the morning."

"No, no we can't, because you're hiding something from me and I can't stand that. You're treating me like some college roommate or something, only being nice to me when it gets you something. You say you wanna make me your full partner but then you come out here alone and go to all of these secret meetings, which you refuse to tell me about. I'm your son, Damnit, and I deserve to know what the Hell is going on here!"

"Lex," he grabs me by the chin, trying to make me look him in the yes, but I manage to break free, and then turn away from him. "I think you've gotten the wrong idea here, and if you would just listen to me…"

"Stop talking to me like I'm some kind of an hysterical toddler. Tell me what's going on!" I scream, angry, scared, confused, nervous. This is not right. Why is he doing this to me?

"Lex, calm down okay," my father says looking me straight in the eyes, and all I can do is nod. "You are right, I haven't been completely honest with you, but it has nothing to do with what you are worried about."

"But if it's not about—I mean, why would you be hiding something from me if—what's going on?" I finally manage to get the words out, no longer caring whether I seem like a pathetic idiot.

"Lex, I wasn't at a board meeting this morning. I was at Dr. Harrison's," he starts to explain. As I listen to him tell me about this bizarre liver condition, and how he's been going to specialist for a couple of months now, the only thing I can feel is this cold, dull ache where my heart should be. By the time he finishes, I don't know how to respond. I feel like I can't even breath, thinking and speaking are out of the question. I try, unsuccessfully for over an hour to try and make a sound, any sound, but it's no use.

"Dad?" the word comes out after what seems like an eternity. I have to do something, but what? Is there anything I can do? Is he gonna need a new liver? Would that even help? How would I go about buying one? Can I give him mine, or at least part of it anyway? Am I a match? What if I am but he won't let me give it to him? What if he will let me? Do I really wanna have unnecessary surgery that won't benefit me in anyway physically, just to help—Lionel, especially considering the way he's treated me throughout my life? What if he dies because I won't help him? "What. Are. We. Gonna. Do?"

"I don't know, Lex. I just—I don't know." I think it's the first time I've ever heard my father say anything even remotely like this. I had hoped that at least he would have a plan, or an idea, because I have absolutely nothing—well almost nothing. There are two voices going back and forth debating each other in my brain.

"Offer him your liver. He's your father Damnit; you can't just let him die. What would you do without him?"

"That's exactly what he's going to think if you start balling like a baby, and saying _oh Daddy pwease don't die I need you_."

"He's your father. He gave you life. Doesn't he deserve to have the favor returned?"

"Be strong. Be a man. If he needs your liver so badly, let him ask for it. Then you have all of the power. Think of what you could do with that."

"Yeah, because he's just gonna ask you to have half of one of your vital organs ripped out. He's even more stubborn than you are. You know he needs this, just offer it to him."

"Be a man. Be strong."

"Do the right thing."

"Be strong."

"Right."

"Strong."

"Right."

"Strong." SHUT UP! Shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! I turn and watch Dad as he lies down, closing his eyes. I lower myself so we can snuggle, letting him wrap his arms around me, since that's what he likes.

"I should get tested," I announce, just as he's falling asleep. Dad sits upright quickly. "I mean, to see if I can give you a piece of my liver." He seems to relax a little, pulling me tighter to him.

"I can't let you do that. I can't ask you to do that. It's just as dangerous for you to donate, as it would be for me. There are other doctors, Lex, specialists. Let's see what hey have to say before we start considering other alternatives."

"But would it work? If you got anew liver, would that take care of everything? You're my father and you're sick. If I can help you then I'll do whatever it takes. Would that take care of everything?"

"If you are a match, then yes, but it doesn't make any difference. I won't let you risk your life. Not when we have other options."

"You just said that your doctor didn't know what to do, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm not a little kid any more. You can't make me do anything, and you can't stop me either. Some one is going to get part of my liver, it might as well be you."

"Alright, fine, but at the very least will you get tested before you go around having parts of your body removed?" he asks, placing his hand on my stomach. Of course I say yes, but I sense that he is praying, not for me to be a match, but for me not to be. Dad doesn't want me to get hurt, let alone to actually hurt me. He wants to make it. He wants to live, but not if it could cause me pain. Not if I have to suffer for him to survive. So, what do I do now?


	8. Somebody Who Cares

So obviously there are two places I can go with this story. Either Clark can be the one to heal Lionel, or Lex can be the one. I suppose the third choice is that the two of them would work together…anyway, if you guys can suggest something…thanks

"When Your Body Is Coming Apart At The Seams

And The Whole Thing's Feeling Low You're Convincing Yourself

That There's Nobody There, I Know

I Know Now You Feel

Like Somebody Has Taken The Wheels Off Your Car

When You Had Somewhere To Go Well It's Annoying

Not Going To Get Very Far I Know

But Somebody Cares," Paul McCartney

"Lex," my father's voice pulls me from a hazy, dreamless sleep. I open my eyes, groaning loudly and looking at the clock. It says that it's almost 12:00. The room is dark, but only because the window curtains are still down. "You have a visitor." I don't have a lot of people in my life good or bad, and I can only imagine one, maybe two, Dad would ever let in the house. It's Clark. He's here.

"Wow come you didn't wake me up sooner," I ask, as I slowly pull myself up, grabbing a robe. He doesn't say anything, just reaches to touch my face, kissing me softly on the cheek. I let myself fall into his arms, inhaling his sweet aroma.

"Clark Kent is waiting for you downstairs," he informs me, touching the band-aid on my left hand from where they took my blood, to test it. I look into Dad's eyes. He's smiling. Apparently I'm not the only one Clark came to see.

It's been a while since my dad told me he was sick. The day after that he flew to John's Hopkins for more tests, and stayed there for about a week. Monday came home, exhausted and so we just stayed in; Tuesday we spent arguing over whether or not I should donate; Wednesday I convinced him to let me get tested, and yesterday I went to the doctor, where they asked me about a million questions and drew some blood.

We're supposed to get the results today, but both Dad and I have been—anxious is the word I'd use. So, his smiling, Clark's being here, these are good things. I'm taking it as a sign.

"How long has he been down there for?" I ask, walking towards the door but letting Dad stop me when he reaches out to grab my arm. "We don't wanna make him wait, do we? Okay. Twenty minutes won't kill him."

"Or we could invite the young man to come up here and join us." The way he suggests it, there's no pressure. He's been doing that a lot lately. I think my father's worried he might be taking advantage of me. "He's an incredible young man, but I'm sure you already knew that. Dad kisses me softly, running his tongue over my lips.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asks, pressing his lips to the back of my wrist, and peeling the bandage off, softly. There's a smudge about the size of a quarter, all purple and dark blue. "That's a pretty nasty looking bruise."

"It's nothing. I hardly even feel it. When I was at school, the other kids used to do a lot worse to me on a regular basis," I tell him with a slight sigh. "I've got a good feeling, though. Everything's gonna work out fine." Dad nods, opening the door and ushering Clark into the room. I look back and forth between them, staring in disbelief. "This is nice." Clark rushes to my side, wrapping his arms around my waist, hugging me.

"Lex, I know you said you guys were coming back, but I couldn't wait. I wanted to see you—both of you—how come you look so—is something wrong?" he asks, picking up my hand and examining it.

"It's uh—nothing." I turn to Dad, as if to ask whether or not we should tell Clark that he's sick. I know how he can get. Sometimes he's even more—well let's just say there's a reason I am the way I am.

"What's wrong?" he asks again. Hugging me tightly, and whimpering. Then Dad steps in putting an arm around me, and the other around Clark. "Are you okay?"

"Lex is fine. I just wish I could say the same for myself." Watching Clark listen to my dad, I get to see what I must have looked like when my father told me he was sick. Clark looks like he's about to start sobbing, and both me and Dad hold him close.

"Is there anything I can do?" Clark asks, pressing his face to my chest, and I can feel the slight wetness of his tears on my skin, cool and soft. So I keep running my fingers through his hair. Then the phone rings and Dad disappears into the other room for a little while. When he comes back, there's a strange look in his eyes, and I just know something is very wrong.

"Dad?" I ask, not sure how to reach out and hold him, without letting go of Clark. "That—who was that? On the phone, who just called?"

"That was Dr. Selig, the one who did the blood test yesterday. They got the results back." Dad pauses, sitting on the bed, and placing his head in his hands.

"Well there has to be something else we can do," Clark blurts out. "Maybe I can do something, I mean, with all of my abilities there has to be something I can do." Clark pulls Dad closer so the three of us can sit together. Now I'm the one holding them both in my arms. Each one lays their head against my chest, breathing deeply, slow. Then my father lifts his head, kissing the side of my cheek, and he starts to rub my shoulders, and massage my neck.

"Lex," he says, kissing me again, and again. "I need to talk to you in private," he says taking me off to the side. The doctor said that your blood is a match, a perfection one actually," he says with a long, deep sigh.

"Wait a second. That's good news. No, it's great news," I announce, kissing Dad and smiling huge. "I should have known I'd be a match…when mom was sick and she needed blood, I tried to—but I couldn't. But this is good news."

"I only agreed to let you be tested, because I didn't think you would be a match. Lex this is not the same as donating your blood. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of letting you—"

"You're my father, and you're sick. I can help you. I should help you. I _have_ to do it. Dad, please, I know you're worried about me, but I never get sick. Never. Everything is gonna be okay. I promise."

"But you don't know that Lex. You can't, and you're my child. I'm the one who's supposed to protect you, not force you to have your abdomen sliced open so they can remove—"

"You already said all of that," I interrupt him again. "You're not forcing anything on me. I want to do this, for you and for me. I'm not ready to be alone. There's a lot of things I need you to teach me, and you can't do that if you die."

"This would be a lot easier if there was some other way." Dad runs his hand down my chest, pressing softly against my side. "If there were more options, if I had a handful of choices, then at least. I hate the idea that my son could die attempting to save my life."

"That's a very good reason for feeling bad, but it's not everything. You don't want me to do this surgery, because it would mean that you owed me something. You would lose a little control, and I'd gain a lot, and that is why you have a problem with me donating half of my liver to you, isn't it Dad?"

"I love you, Lex, and yes the idea of owing you that much is certainly concerning, but I am far more worried about the possibility of losing you. Even if the operation goes perfectly, you could go the rest of your life and not recover, or you could get this one day too."

"I won't—but if by some amazing coincidence, I do, it would be years from now. Who knows, by then there could even be a cure. Let me do this. Please. Let me help you, let me save you." Dad sighs, pulling me into his arms, kissing the top of my head, over and over.

"If only there was another way, some option we haven't thought of yet."

"I now. I wish there was something else we could do, but there isn't. I have to do this Dad. We both do," I say, as tiny tears start welling up in the corners of my eyes. I hear this sound, someone clearing their throat. It's Clark; he's standing in the doorway, listening to us.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," he tells me quietly, "but I think I might be able to do something that would help, at least it would help a little bit anyway. It might not fix things, but—it's better than nothing."


	9. My Decision

"Yeah, I miss the old crowd sometimes and the wild, wild nights of running. You know, a starving soul cant live like that for long. You go around in circles that just keep getting smaller you wake up one morning and half your life is gone. I got so tired of that; I got so lonely, I dropped down and I called out to heaven, 'send me someone to love.' And heaven shot back, you get the love that you allow. And everything is different now," Don Henley.

"Clark, I don't think it's a good idea for you to—just—maybe we should just go into the other room for a minute and talk." The only thing that would be worse than giving my liver to Dad, owing him that much, would be for my father to be able to take advantage of Clark. I trust Dad, I love him; I want to trust him, but he is still my father, and I know how he thinks. He's the only person more obsessed with Clark than I am. Clark looks at me, then at Dad, and back to me again.

"I wanna tell him," he looks me directly in the eyes. "You—think, okay. We can talk, but I don't think you're gonna change my mind." Dad stands to leave, but I sort of push him back onto the bed gently.

"You stay here, rest—relax. Clark and I will go to my room—that is assuming you haven't got this place completely wired too," I say. I'm not bitter I swear, but my father and I have had our problems in the past and I'm not sure it's all over.

"That was a completely different situation Lex. I have no reason to spy on you now. You work with me. That—incident—took place during one of your little futile attempts—no. And even if I was spying on you, your bedroom would be off limits." Dad touches my hand before I get up to leave. It's one of those, I love you touches. He doesn't know what, if anything, Clark has to offer, and so for now, he's sort of sucking up to me.

"It's okay Dad. I'm going to—I am going to do this. I'd do anything for you. Yeah, I know. I'm pathetic. Deal with it. I already have."

"You're not pathetic, Lex, not even close. I shouldn't even ask. Your health is—it's not fair of me to ask you to risk your life, even if it could save my own."

"Dad—we can have this conversation a hundred million times, and it is always going to end the exact same way. Unless they come up with a magic potion or cure-all, I am having half of my liver taken you. You might as well take it, since we match." Clark takes my hand and the two of us walk down the hallway towards my room.

"He—I can help. Maybe. There could be something in me that can help your dad, and then you wouldn't have to do the surgery. I don't know how, but there has to be something I can do."

"And in doing so you tell your secret to me, my father, my father's doctors, and all of the millions of patients that could just as easily be saved the way you might be able to help my dad. Maybe you can do something and maybe you can't. Having this surgery _might_ kill me, but if you expose yourself to the whole world because you love me your dad definitely _will_.

"He wouldn't actually," Clark starts to tell me, defensively, but then he stops. "Well maybe we could—maybe we wouldn't have to tell him about it." Clark Kent behaving deviously. I'm a terrible influence and an even worse friend. How do I shoot this idea down with hurting him?

"Unless we gave give my dad part of your liver, I think anything we did would take a while. I'm not sure even you could explain away that many excursions to Metropolis" I explain, the words just coming to me.

"Are you guys moving away?" he asks, looking around nervously. I hadn't thought of that before. Dad said he had to be up here for the tests and doctors visits, but I never asked whether or not he would come back to Smallville. Would all that traveling be safe in his condition?

"I don't know. I might, the thing—if we just do the operation the two of us could recuperate at home, but his doctors are here, his business is here. I think he's probably more comfortable in Metropolis, where as—Smallville is…I don't think he ever planned on staying there. Neither did I—until I met you anyway."

"Oh," he says quietly, looking over at me, like he might cry. I wrap my arms around his body. "I can't come up here every day. I—what—can't you guys stay in Smallville _and_ do his treatment?"

"I asked him to stay before I knew he was sick, and he promised, but I feel like—everything is different now. Look I'm not saying you shouldn't come around or that you can't help, but let's not offer you up as a guinea pig unless there's a specific way we can think of for you to help him." Clark looks me over for a while and then nods his head.

"I just wanna help—but you're right, besides I don't think—I mean I don't know of anything I can actually, you know, do. Are you gonna be okay? Having an operation, that's like a big deal, isn't it?"

He puts his hand on mine, and then starts softly stroking my side with his other hand, I'm guess that's where he thinks my liver would be. It's pretty close so I don't say a word. Just nod.

"Yeah, it's a big deal, but what else can we do?" We sit on the edge of my bed. Clark pulls me into his arms. He holds me. Hugs me. Kisses me. "I'm a little scared. Don't tell him though okay?" Clark nods. His lips brush against the top of my head. "You know what's weird. I'm not scared of what's going to happen to me. I hardily even gave it a second thought. I'm afraid of losing him. If he died…I don't know what I'd do. We're just starting to get along now. I think he might actually. He's been letting me in. He trusted me. And the other day he referred to Luthorcorp as "our" company. It's like I'm equal to him, or something. Like he really loves me."

"And you're worried he might stop, if you don't save him?" Clark asks, but I shake my head, vigorously. Then he gives me the look. All I can do is sigh. A loud, long sigh.

"I know that's what has him worried. My father thinks the only reason I even offered to let him have half of my liver, is because I'm afraid he won't love me otherwise, but I'm not sure. Of course I'm worried he's gonna stop living me and I don't know how to keep that from happening—but I want him to be alive. I need him around, because I love him. Because he's my daddy. Because—okay yeah, I'm scared of what will happen if I don't help him, but I'm more scared of what will happen if I don't."

Then I start crying, and Clark is holding me in his arms, hugging me, rubbing my back. He takes me back to Dad's room, where my father wraps his arms around me as well.

"Alright," Dad says to me, as he and Clark both try to hold me. "I'm not going to do this to you. No more worries, okay, Lex?" Then he lowers his face and whispers, "it's okay," and "I love you," into my ears, over and over.

"No." I finally work up the strengh to pull myself together just long enough to get out one last speech, but that's gonna be it for today. "I have to do this. I think I'd feel a lot more scared and I'll be in more pain if I don't. Please. Please," I beg. Dad pulls me tighter in his arms, and while he is taking me away from Clark, it makes me feel better having my head right up against his chest.

I can feel my father's smooth skin, and silk hairs against my face, can hear his heart beating, feel it under me. Everything is hushed. I'm falling asleep, totally and completely exhausted. Clark kisses my cheek softly. I can hear him telling me that everything is gonna be okay.

Now I am feeling better. I am much better. I'm feeling good, safe almost, right. They are—I know what I have to do. I can save my father. I have to save him. I'm going to do this.

"I love you Son," Dad's voice explains softly. "And I always will. You're right. There is a reason you turned out to be a match, and I'd be foolish to let that slip by me, but I want to make sure that you know I would love you either way. You're my son and I love you."

"Thanks," is pretty much all I'm able to say before I finally fall asleep with both my father's and Clark's arms wrapped around me, both of them kissing my face and head softly. I stay asleep all night. No nightmares. Only good dreams.


	10. I Should Have Known Better

"I should have known better with a girl like you, that I would love everything that you do, and I do, hey, hey, hey, and I do. Whoa, woah, I never realized what a kiss could be, this could only happen to me; can't you see, can't you see? That when I tell you that I love you, oh, you're gonna say you love me too, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, oh, and when I ask you to be mine, you're gonna say you love me too," John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

"I have to admit, my father has excellent tastes. Never would have thought I'd say so. Never thought I'd think it," I hear myself say to Clark. Two days since we came home. Seventeen days since the transplant. Clark, and Dad, and I made love every night. Feeling mostly strong. Tired, sometimes. Still officially on bed rest. A big bed. Big enough for three. Healing well, despite the pain.

"You would feel much more," Dad pauses, searching for a word that won't offend me. "Comfortable, if you would take the pain medication the doctor gave you. There's nothing wrong with that." He reaches out to stroke my face. It must be 3:00. Had this fight about a hundred times.

"It's not terrible," I lie. I'm not sick. My incision is almost healed. Almost three weeks have gone by. Should be feeling better now. Dad senses this. Damn. Thought I could hide the pain. Should have known better. Even he seems to be getting well faster. Maybe Clark was right. Healing touch…just not with his hands.

"Regardless of what you tell yourself, me, Clark, or anyone else, you've just had major surgery. Pain is normal. You need to relax, allow your body whatever time it needs to—recuperate." He takes a couple pills from the bottle, presses them into my palm.

"I think your dad is right," Clark informs me. Big surprise. I take the pills. Easier than fighting. They're both right. I feel better even after just a few minutes. Clark might have told me that I was his favorite, but the way he acts around my father, you'd never know it. Even when we fuck it's always me and Clark and Clark and Dad or Clark and Dad and Dad and me, if you get what I mean by that.

"I didn't expect to feel like crap for this long," I admit, whispering, after Dad falls asleep. It's late, and we've just finished a night of Luthor/Kent marathon sex. "He seems to be getting better faster than me, which isn't even remotely fair, and the two of you are like a couple of love struck teenagers. I'm just the third wheel, screw-up of a son who he owes his life to now. If it weren't for that, you'd have kicked me out a long time ago." Damn, I did not mean to say any of that out loud. I guess the pills made me more relaxed than I expected them to.

Clark stares at me blankly, and then he pulls me into his arms, kissing me over, and over, saying I love you, about a million times. I feel myself giving into him because as angry as I'd like to be with him, I'm about a hundred million times more in love with Clark, and we both know it. I feel him slipping inside of me, ever so gently, and our bodies convulsing together, his breath on the nape of my neck, he's exploding inside of me, and then I fall into his arms.

"You should have said something," Clark tells me, even though he doesn't have to. The two of us curled up together only take up about a quarter of the bed, and we've rolled all the way to one side, with my father on the other. I turn to look at him. "I love you so much, if I had to make a choice, there wouldn't even be a contest. It's you, always you, and if you ever wanted, only you." He's whispering, because Dad's a light sleeper and I would like to keep this conversation private, we both would.

When I turn back to Clark I don't even bother trying to hide the tears in my eyes, but the weird thing is, I'm actually feeling better. I don't know if it was Clark, or the painkillers or the combination of both, but I am better. AT least, I think I might be.

"I love you too Clark, I think I just needed to hear those things out loud, and I needed to let my stuff out too. Do you think that maybe from now on you could sort of—I need you to—what we just did, it helped me. I think it helps Dad too, and I'm sort of babbling here." Clark nods, quickly, pulling me even closer to him than I had thought possible.

He holds me for a long time, just whispering, I love you, over and over, even after he's sure I heard him, and believe it. Laying here in the late night darkness with rays of silver moonlight shining down on his body, Clark is even more beautiful than ever, which I didn't think was something that might be possible—okay that was the painkillers.

Yes Clark is beautiful, and he looks even better than usual, but well let's just say it's a good thing I don't have to draw up any official documents, because frankly I can't even put together a coherent sentence. I don't like feeling sick, in pain, uncomfortable, weak in front of my father, and I practically had a melt down this afternoon at least he was asleep when I actually did lose it.

"If you want," Clark tells me, taking my face in his hand and turning it so we can look each other in the eyes. "We can make a pact that I only do-you know—with you, I mean with you, and me" his voice sort of trails off and he looks into the distance.

"No, I think—I think you were right when you said that you could help and—I think you were right. I think that there is something inside of you that is making him better. I can feel it making me better, even after just one time. Maybe when he's healthy for then we can talk about changing things but if we—If you can—it would be better for both of us to be able to—you—I'm not shy like this, not ever, except with you and sometimes with my father."

"I have more than enough strengh for that," he promises, looking me in the eyes once again, and kissing my cheek softly. "And I think you were right too, before, about not telling your dad that I…about not telling. It's not that I don't trust him, but it's just not the right time."

"He's sneaky, and manipulative, and he loves me, which makes everything a hundred times more complicated. I love him with—I love him completely, but I don't always trust him. Which is sort of why I think that might be why things don't always work, but he's not always honest with me, how can he possible expect anymore than what he gives?" Wow that' even more pathetic than it sounded in my head. No wonder we don't get along. No wonder Dad never trusts me. No wonder things never work between the two of us. How can he trust me if I don't at least show him the same courtesy? My father loves me, all he wants is for us to get along, and I keep screwing that up.

Or is that just how he wants me thinking? You this, this is exactly why our relationship sucks so much. Everything is fucked up. I've always wanted to trust him, wanted us to get along, and I suspect—I hope—he wanted the same thing, but things have always been difficult. He used to say he wanted me to be strong, like him. He used to say he wanted me to be a Luthor, and I used to think I wasn't cut out for it.

When I was little I thought he was man. When I was twelve I though he was just a jackass who treated everyone like crap. Even when we started sleeping together, he wasn't nice to me all the time, just—sometimes. So now, I'm not sure how I feel about him, whether or not I can trust him. It's not that I'm afraid of him, or rather I'm not afraid that he'd physically hurt me, just of what could happen between us, what would happen to me if things don't work out, if things change.

What if he gets better and stops loving me, and leaves and what if Clark goes with him and I have nothing? My god, I've done it. I've actually gone and done it. I have completely and utterly lost my mind. We all knew it was bound to happen one of these days, what with my father, the way he raised me, everything. It was only a matter of time and now it's really happened.

"You shouldn't feel bad for thinking those things. You're not sure whether or not you can trust him, because he lied to you for so long. He's hurt you so many times, and you're just scared, confused—and you guys need to work on that. It's gonna take time, and it isn't going to be easy, but I think you can do it." He pulls me even closer, which seemed impossible before, but he finds a way, rubbing my back, shoulders, stomach, arms, legs, touching me everywhere.

"I love you Lex, and if for some reason things don't work out between you and your—between you and Lionel, I'll stick with you. We're gonna be together forever, and I'll never leave you," he promises.

"You shouldn't say never. You don't know what could happen a year from now, five years, ten, twenty years. I know you care about me, which helps, even with the paranoia, but uh—but sometimes, I'm gonna need you to tell me, over and over and over. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he tells me, kissing the top of my head. "I will tell you a hundred times a day, every day, for the rest of our lives, if you need it. I will tell you that I love you so many times, you'll be sick of it." Then Dad makes a soft sort of moaning sound, as he wakes, sitting up. He turns to look at Clark and me, awning softly.

"Are you boys alright?" At first I can't even figure out why he is asking, but then I remember how Clark and I have moved over to the very edge of the bed, the two of us curled up, whispering to each other so he wouldn't hear, so I'd feel safe, so we can have some privacy.

"We just—I mean uh—we were talking and you were, resting…sleeping. I want—I didn't want to wake you up. So we moved over here and we were just—talking," I manage to get out, all but stuttering. I know he can see straight through me. Dad probably knows exactly what we were talking about, and he's not just gonna call me on it he's going to, well I don't know what he's going to do, but it is going to be bad.

"Would you come here for a moment?" my father reaches out to me with his left hand. "Lex, I would like some time to talk to you privately. Is that okay?" he asks, when I don't move any closer to him. At least he's doing this in private. It'll only be about half as mortifying with just the two of us. Clark looks me over for a minute, watching my face, my reaction, studying Dad, trying to figure out just what's going on here. He leans down to whisper in my ear.

"Are you gonna be okay?" his voice cracks just a tiny bit, but the statement is on e of strengh none-the-less. "I don't wanna leave you alone with him right now. I don't know—I'd just hate to see you get hurt."

"He wouldn't do that," I whisper back. "Not in any way you think. He might…he won't hurt me. You don't have to worry, I'll be okay. I promise." Clark looks back over at my father for a moment or two, and then nods.

"I've gotta go back to the farm for a while—do my chores. I'll be back around 9:00 or so. We can have breakfast or something then. Okay?" My father smiles, softly stroking his temple.

"I'll be sure to call down and have something special brought up then." Clark kisses me and then stands to leave. "Clark, aren't you forgetting something?" he asks, touching his beard. Clark gives my father a confused look. "The helicopter will take you back to Smallville, alright?"

"Oh yeah…thanks. I'll try and take care of everything as fast as possible, so I can get back here soon," he tells me with another hug and another kiss. Then he's gone and for the first time since the operation it's just me and Dad. He reaches for me again, fingers tickling my arm.

"Alright, Lex. Something is wrong. You've been behaving as though something were bothering you. Tell me what's going on. It's okay, Son. You can tell me." I shake my head vigorously. No I can't tell you, you won't love me any more. I'm weak—I'm so weak. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. "Lex, talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. I won't be angry with you."

"I know you won't get mad, that's not what I'm worried about. I'm just scared you're gonna—I mean nothing is wrong. I'm fine. Everything is fine," I lie, and again badly. I suck at lying, at least where he's concerned, but what does he expect me to do, just blurt out twenty-odd years of pent up frustration and mistrust and whatever else is locked up in my sub-conscious.

"Lex, there is no sense in avoiding this. Something is bothering you. I want our relationship to work this time around, and that cannot happen if we aren't honest with each other. Relax. I am not trying to trick you. This is not a setup." That's not true, I wanna scream at him. I don't mean to say anything, but for the second time today something just slips out, and I just let everything out.

"But I'm scared, Daddy—I'm scared that you're starting to—that you're gonna stop loving me soon and fast and then everything's gonna go back to the way it was before. You don't trust me, and you've never give me any reason to trust you, and I don't know how I'm supposed to act around you or—I just feel like the whole thing was a scam so you could take advantage of me, and break my heart and," my voice trails off then, and I look away.

Then, just as I'm about to get off of the bed, stand up, and run out of the room in tears, but he grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me to his chest as tight as humanly possible.

"I'm sorry, Lex. I never meant to hurt you. When you were a little boy, all I wanted was for you to grow up to be strong, happy, and healthy. I wanted you to be like me, but I made—I made mistakes. I hurt you, and I'm sorry for that. All I can do now, is love you and protect you and try to undo the damage I've already done. I am not trying to trick you, hurt you again, but I understand your hesitation. I love you, and I want to help."

The whole time he's stalking to me, my father is rubbing my back and shoulders, gently massaging me, and kissing the top of my head and cheeks, like Clark was. Maybe he's right. Yeah, okay, things haven't always been great between us, in fact sometimes they down right suck, but if he's willing to try and work things out then so am I.


End file.
